


What are you really

by fireatwill52



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, I never know what tags I need, M/M, Markus is a camboy, Markus owns a doughnut shop that Connor frequents, Online Relationship, Phone Sex, Sexting, detective!Connor, meet online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireatwill52/pseuds/fireatwill52
Summary: Connor is a detective. Markus owns a doughtnut shop and oh yeah, also does live camboy shows twice a week. Connor stumbles across Markus' show the week before he meets him in person. He doesn't tell him the truth because he's a dumbass, but goes ahead and falls in love with him in real life and in lust with him online. Naturally it all goes to shit when the guilt gets too much for Connor and he finally admits the truth to Markus. Hank is suitably unimpressed with whole mess from start to finish.





	What are you really

**Author's Note:**

> This is un'betaed and I'm crap with tenses so don't be surprised if I slip between two.  
> It's angsty as heeeeeeck too

Connor’s not overly familiar with the sensation that’s been circling in his stomach the whole week since he got the good news, growing tighter and more incessant as days go by and nights stretch on. It’s not until late on Sunday night, as he’s getting into bed and scooping up his phone to set his alarm, that the feeling slides up to take a firm grip on his throat, and he finally recognises it for what it is.

Nerves.

Connor doesn’t often get nervous. No exam, no test, no interview, no trial or review, and certainly no first day has even made him nervous. Focused, yes. Determined, absolutely. But not nervous.

Tomorrow is his first day as a DI with the Detroit police force, his goal for 20 of his 24 years of life, finally achieved through long hours, hard work and some bloody batshit insane experiences. But it is nothing to be nervous about, he tells himself sternly. 

Half an hour later, tossing and turning has ended in complacent staring up at his ceiling as he prays for sleep. When both his mind and stomach start churning in unison, he admits defeat.

He needs a good sleep, he reasons. He can’t go to his first day of work without proper rest. And the best sleep always comes after good sex.

With that he leans his torso down from the bed and drags up his laptop from the floor. He navigates to his favourite porn site and logs in on autopilot. The site was most popular for its live feed videos, and Connor loves knowing whatever guy he’s watching really is performing in real-time.

He runs an eye absently down the ‘now live’ thumbnails, before his attention is caught but one guy’s still image of just his bare, muscular chest. He clicks the link through to the feed and is met with the hottest sight he’s ever seen.

The guy is slumped in a chair so that the camera captures from his muscular thighs up his toned torso as far as his broad shoulders. He’s ripped and hung and freaking gorgeous. His cock, which is currently being stroked slowly in one large hand, is both long and thick, the dark tip glistening wet.

As Connor watches, his own cock stiffening in his green pyjama pants, he becomes immensely grateful he lives alone in atiny 1-bed apartment, because after a few seconds a low voice comes through his speakers. 

The performer is talking.

“Oh, that feels so good…”

Connor groans a little in response – the voice has taken him by happy surprise. On screen the guy switches his position a little, bringing one foot up to brace on his seat, showing more of his body as he moans and leans back in his chair, hand never stilling.

Connor flicks a quick glance at the comments next to the video display, from the other users who are watching too. With over 600 viewers, the comments are rolling through all the time as they update, pushing each other further up the page. Most of the comments are from people with terrifyingly bad display names – Babyboi69? Seriously? – who is begging the performer to fuck him. But the guy doesn’t have a hand on the mouse to reply – he’s slumped down even further with his ass in view on the edge of the seat, the thumb on his free hand now teasing his hole. 

Something makes the guy laugh, so he must be watching the comment feed at least, but Connor ignores any evidence of others existing, rolls his eyes at their unrealistic requests. He just watches the performer, enjoying reality. The guy is back to rubbing himself slowly, and Connor reaches down into his pants, shoving his laptop further down his thighs so he can copy the motions.

“But what if I want to go faster?” The guy asks, and Connor shivers at the heat in his voice. “What if I’m done taking orders now?”

“Oh fuck,” Connor hisses, as the guy picks up speed, pumping himself faster, tighter. 

“What if I want you on your knees before me, so you can beg me to cum in your mouth, down your throat? Is that what you want, huh? My hand in your hair, holding you in place. You want to taste me, baby?”

Connor scrunches his eyes up and keens as he comes all over his stomach, making no effort to hold back. This was what he wanted, all he wanted. He’s dabbing absently at himself with a handful of tissues when he watches the guy finish too, hears his growl of “You ready, baby,” before he’s spurting all over his own chest and abs.

With his mission accomplished, Connor doesn’t hang around in the stream, just kills the browser, shoves his computer back under the bed, throws the tissues in the direction of his rubbish bin and flops down into sated sleep.

*  
Connor fights the urge to roll his eyes as his curmudgeonly partner pulls the car up outside the Jericho Doughnut shop at the University with a rare smile on his face. It’s nearly midday on Wednesday, so Connor’s been an active detective for three days, and this is about the tenth time Hank’s called into the store. On the plus side, Hank’s always in a good mood when he wanders back to the car clasping his box , with a doughnut already between his teeth, and remains in that good mood for about ten minutes after consuming them all. On the downside, it’s a freaking waste of time and resources and usually makes them late for wherever they were meant to have been.

This time, Connor drags himself out of the car and trails into the store after Hank, deciding that since this is apparently rote for his partner several times a day, he may as well try to get on board. Once inside he gazes about at the décor, paintings in blues, oranges and greys, which coupled with the soft yellow walls reminds him of the sky at sunrise. The shop has a few chairs and tables, a bar with yellow stools along one wall, and a large glass display counter at the back, stocked with all sorts of exceptionally unhealthy-looking doughnuts. There’s a small queue of customers blocking most of his view, Hank among them, but the food looks fresh.

When a swing door opens on the back wall and a guy walks out to join to the two other employees behind the counter, Connor feels his mouth fall open. 

The guy is fucking gorgeous, green eyes, solid shoulders, golden-brown skin. Just looking at him sends a little shudder down Connor’s spine, tinged with a vague sense of recognition.

“How can I help you?” The guy calls, waving to Hank to come up to the counter, and Connor puts it together immediately even as Hank reaches back for his arm to haul Connor forward with him. That voice. He knows that voice. He’s not a detective for nothing.

It’s the same freaking gorgeous, perfectly hung guy who’d starred in Sunday night’s live feed. Connor blushes pink as he takes him in, his bare forearms under his rolled-up sleeves, his rich voice, the long fingers which Connor had last seen three nights ago as the guy had touched…

Connor doesn’t get nervous, but he sure as heck gets tongue-tied.

“H-Hi.”

The guy grins at him, but Hank feels the need to barge past Connor’s shoulder to get closer to the counter, jostling him.

“Can I get a black coffee, and… let’s see...”

Markus, according to his name-badge, shoots Connor another smile before he grabs a cardboard box to start stocking with Hank’s choices. 

“Do you need that many?” Connor finally has the presence of mind to mutter to his senior, as the box is quickly filled with every type of chocolate doughnut on display.

“What! There’s room in there for whatever you want too!” Hank insists. 

“Yeah for a crumb,” Connor mutters, ducking as Hank makes to cuff him around the ear.

“For that, you’re paying! I’ll be in the car!”

Then he’s sauntering back out onto the windy street, waving obnoxiously at Connor over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hank! Get back here! I’m not paying for your goddamn sugar addiction!”

He turns back to find Markus laughing helplessly at him.

“It’s been awhile since I've seen Hank with a partner, I’d forgotten what a wind-up he is!” he says, as he straightens. “So, what can I get you, detective…?”

“Just call me Connor.”

“Connor,” Markus smiles. “I can squeeze another two in the box; I’ll only charge you a half dozen since Hank’s decided to be a jerk.”

“That’s very kind,” Connor blushes again under the gaze from those green eyes, before finally venturing close enough to the display. “Um, the strawberry frosted, please, and… the Bavarian cream. Oh, and a caramel macchiato too, thanks.”

“And you ragged on Hank for his sweet-tooth!” Markus teases as he fills the box and seals it, then sets about making the coffee.

“Hey, he’s got five in there! I was only going to ask for one till you decided to be nice!”

“You can afford to have a lot more than one,” Markus murmurs, looking him up and down as he puts the lids on their coffees and if Connor was blushing before he must be matching the sun for heat now.  
Hank honks the horn, so Connor pays quickly, grabs his haul and heads reluctantly to the door. They were supposed to catch up with Reed a half hour ago, but he drags his feet a little.

“See you around, Detective,” Markus calls after him, and Connor ducks his head under his beanie and rushes for the car, grinning like a lunatic and unable to keep from staring back at the little shop over his shoulder as Hank peels away from the curb, barely noticing the heat from his coffee in his hands.

*

They’re in the doughnut shop again on Friday, and while Connor is absolutely not complaining, it is a little concerning.

“How often do you come here!?” He demands of Hank as they get out of the car.

Hank just shrugs, “Coupla times a week, why?”

“We’ve been in every single day! Sometimes twice! How are you still fit for active duty, all the crap you eat!” Connor grumbles. The amount of empty beer cans he’s currently sharing his footwell with surely isn’t healthy, and he knows that before the cleaners went around last night at the office, Hank’s rubbish bin had been overflowing with cheeseburger wrappers and empty milkshake cups.

To Connor’s delight when they duck inside past dawdling students and harried-looking lecturers, Markus is behind the counter, and his stomach flips in excitement. Connor had seen another show of his last night, and the memory surges back fresh, his skin prickling, as Markus catches his eye and smiles at him.

There’s a thin blonde guy alongside Markus, and a girl with long auburn hair, and Connor dithers a little in the queue, trying to count the people ahead of them, wanting to make sure it’s Markus who serves them.

Hank is oblivious to Connor’s calculations, just pulls out his badge and waves it around as he bowls past all the other customers to the front of the queue, hauling Connor along behind him.  
“Sorry, sorry, we’re in a rush, in the middle of a serious investigation.”

Markus rolls his eyes and winks at Connor before addressing Hank, “I’ve told you to stop doing that!”

“We are though, it’s true! Tell him what we got, Connor.”

“Triple homicide in Woodbridge,” Connor replies automatically, and Markus’ eyes go wide. Connor resists the urge to sigh in longing just gazing at his face.

“Alright, alright,” Markus grumbles, before asking Connor pointedly first. “What d’you want?”

“Caramel macchiato,” Connor says too fast, and Markus laughs. The female employee lingering at Markus' elbow shoots him a long look before she heads over to the coffee machine.

“Anything to eat?”

Connor glances at the display. There’s a spiced apple doughnut that’s calling his name but there’s also a few vaguely healthy-looking bagels and paninis, filled with salads and meat.

“Two of the chicken salad paninis, please, one for me, one for him,” he gestures with his thumb at Hank, who’s looking gobsmacked. “And he just takes his coffee black. Don’t give him any doughnuts!”

“What!” Hank howls. “Hell no, you little shit, I’m not eating that crap!”

“Hey!” Markus interjects, but his grin is so wide he can’t possibly be truly mad. “Josh made those paninis fresh this morning, and they’re amazing!”

“You can go one day without any junk food,” Connor tells Hank forcibly, but he’s still looking furious, and he eyes the paper bag of mini cinnamon doughnuts the blond guy passes a girl over the counter with longing.

Fearing Hank may snatch the bag from her and run, Connor gets a grip on his jacket sleeve.

Markus grins at Connor as he hands over his order, but he does take pity on Hank enough to offer him a plate of cut up doughnut pieces.

“Here, try these, to tide you over. It’s a new flavour we’re thinking of launching, white chocolate and passionfruit.”

Hank grabs a handful and seems appeased, shovelling them into his mouth all at once before he picks up his coffee and sulks off to the door, leaving Connor to pay. Again.

Connor pretends to scowl at Markus, enjoying every second their eyes are locked.

“You’re an enabler,” he tells him, as Markus tries to placate him too by waving the plate under his nose.

“Go on, try!”

Relenting, Connor takes a piece between his teeth as he fishes cash from his pocket to pay. The bit of doughnut is good, a sort of passionfruit curd filling the dough, and a drizzle of white chocolate on top.

“Very nice, I like it. Do you think Hank will be a convert?”

“Never, he doesn’t eat the fruit flavours and he calls white chocolate a lying waste of time,” Markus smiles and Connor wants to stay here forever, but they’re due at their debrief.

He shoots a glance backwards as he heads to the door and finds Markus still watching him, despite the queue and the girl, North, trying to get his attention about something, tugging impatiently at his arm.

They get yelled at Fowler for half an hour, but it’s totally worth it. 

*

Connor’s one of the first to sign in for Markus’ feed on Sunday night, having spent a large portion of the day (let’s face it, his whole weekend) pacing his apartment in nervous anticipation. It’s been exactly a week since the first show of Markus' that he saw but God he’s already hooked.

He swears to himself he’s going to try and stand out to Markus this time, amongst all the others watching the stream – the tumultuous knowledge of knowing him but not knowing him in real life is starting to eat at him, but he can’t deny he’s not desperate to see more of Markus, even after only two shows.

When 10pm rolls around on Sunday he’s waiting, ignoring the others in the chat box, and when the video feed suddenly goes white before Markus’ half naked torso fills the screen, Connor's mouth goes dry.

Oh that chest.

“Evening, everyone, how are we all? Have you all had a nice weekend?” Connor can hear the smile in Markus’ voice.

The box floods with typed responses, some of them surprisingly vulgar for such an innocent question.

Connor breaks his hungry gaze away from Markus’ shoulders and remembers his vow to try and get Markus to notice him, so he types ‘spent most of it desperate waiting for this’ which isn’t even an exaggeration and hits enter, not really expecting it to be seen amongst the myriad of other responses.

So when Markus chuckles and murmurs, “Oh, that’s sweet of you, Sleuth. I hope I don’t disappoint,” Connor’s blood runs cold and his cheeks flush and several other reactions happen at all once too. 

First, he keenly and irrevocably regrets his username. He thought he was being funny when he picked it a year ago when he signed up – funny to no-one but himself in a self-deprecating way. Now it had come back to bite him. What if Markus figured it out? No… no he couldn’t possibly… could he? No. Surely not. It was nothing, one name among hundreds… Sleuth wasn’t an indicator of anything, really, it could mean anything... How many people put their dream career as their username? His account details show he’s been registered for a year, and he’s only been a detective for a week. How could Markus, credibly, link this back to Connor? Yes, the region filter was set to Michigan… but there would be thousands of other people that name could realistically belong to, wasn’t there?

The other reaction he’s having is purely physical, his cock hardening and a slight light-headedness washing over him, because God that voice. 

There’s no way Markus could disappoint in any capacity.

He tells him that, and again Markus seems to see it, a low chuckle coming from the speakers as he leans back in his seat.

“Just to clarify... this doesn’t disappoint, then?” 

Markus settles back even further, and Connor’s eyes glaze over when his cock comes into view. Markus is already naked. And hard. The moan Connor lets out almost isn’t human.

‘You know you’re gorgeous’, he breathes out as he types it, trying to get himself under control.

He thinks Markus is smiling, but the screen is flooded with fanboys, and a few women even though the whole site was for homosexual men, but whatever, begging for Markus to fuck them in various ways, telling him they want to choke on his length.

A little chat window pops up suddenly to the side of the main chat, and Connor jumps a little and maybe squeals.

Markus has simply typed 😉.

‘Hi there. Didn’t know there was private chat on here,’ Connor types to him, his heartbeat starting to drum in excitement.

‘Only the performers can facilitate it,’ Markus types back, and on-screen he’s typing with one hand while the other is… occupied.

‘Thanks for picking me then. I have wondered if the crazed, begging fanboys with their crap grammar and even worse spelling get a little old to you.’

‘It’s fine, I don’t mind them. Although the weird spelling is sometimes hard to decipher when I’m, uh, busy. But for a lot of people, for whatever reason, this is their only platform to explore their sexuality. Some aren’t out, some are a little intimidated by sex, some think they aren’t attractive or appealing enough in person, so they would rather this… it’s all fine.’

‘I didn’t mean to suggest it’s not. I’m here too, aren’t I? Unexperienced is a good word for me, actually. I just wish I could shoot whoever the fuck decided ‘0’ was a necessary substitute for ‘o’’.

He hopes he’s saved things from plummeting south as quick as they were – on the feed Markus laughs, and it rolls over Connor’s ears like a wave.

‘You’re not wrong there. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. I just get a little protective of my fans. Even the ones that use capitals in the middle of words,’ Markus types back.

That makes Connor laugh, and he leans over to take a sip of whisky from his bedside table, relaxing a bit.

When he looks back at the private box Markus has typed ‘going to start, enjoy babe’ and Connor is so glad he put his glass back down already because on screen Markus is jerking himself in long, slow strokes.

‘Fuck you’re beyond hot’ Connor types without thinking, then squawks when he realises his cursor was still active in their private box. He intended for that message to get swallowed up by all the other compliments and encouragement in the main chat, and he cringes a little.

On screen, Markus laughs and murmurs ‘Thank you, baby,’ and all the blood in Connor’s body races to his groin, desperate to believe that the reply was directed at him.

Markus keeps it torturously slow for a while, and Connor tries to match him, but it’s difficult to control himself that much. Just looking at Markus, hearing his voice, makes the blood boil in Connor’s veins, makes him desperate and trembling. To distract himself into behaving he glances at the main chat-box, where others are still making stupid demands. They annoy him, no matter what Markus says, so he goes back to gazing at Markus’ sculpted chest, watching the muscles flex, admiring his bronze skin, gazing hungrily at his dark nipples. 

As soon as the idea pops into his head, he’s typing. Markus is moving a little faster now, his hand pumping rhythmically, but it stills when he reads Connor’s message in their private chat, he must see it, because he chuckles low and throaty, and then both hands come up to touch his chest.

“Right here?” Markus teases, taking both nipples between his fingers and beginning to play with them. “Like this?”

‘Yes. Yes yes yes, like that, oh fuck, thank you, you look so good,’ Connor types, whimpering as does so because fuck it’s so hot to watch. He’s stroking himself a lot faster now, but luckily, it’s not long until Markus whines and his hands slide back down to his cock.

“Too sensitive,” he explains out loud, and Connor shivers at how low his voice is now. He watches quietly for a few minutes, just appreciating the amazing view. Markus’ cock is deliciously thick now, and his balls are drawn up tight.

‘Can you rub your balls for me too, please? They look so good, so full,’ Connor types, stroking himself fast now, and on the feed Markus moans and writhes in his seat a little, before his free hand cups his balls, weighting and rolling them.

‘Oh, fuck yes, you’re so perfect’ Connor tells him, then ‘I can’t last much longer.’

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Markus grits out to the camera, rubbing himself fast and steady.

‘Yeah,’ Connor’s amazed he hasn’t already.

“Nuh-uh,” Markus’ laugh is soft and filthy. “Haven’t given you permission yet, baby. You have to wait till I say you can.”

Connor’s eyes roll back at that, and he’s so close he has to take his hands away from himself entirely, whimpering as he does so.

‘Please,’ he types, his fingers trembling as he pants helplessly. ‘Please, I need it so badly.’

Markus doesn’t answer, just grunts, and then he’s splattering his torso with his cum, stroking himself through it.

“Ok, baby,” he pants as he trails lazy fingertips through the mess he’s made. “Cum.”

Connor does as soon as the word is spoken, arching off the bed by his heels from the force of it. When he finally looks back at the screen, blissful and sleepy, the feed is over, but Markus has left him a message in their private chat, his named greyed out, signifying he was now offline.

‘Thanks, baby,’ he’d typed. ‘Hope it was worth the wait 😉’

It definitely had been. Connor cleans up quickly, closes his computer and is asleep in mere moments.

*

Connor has been Hank’s partner for six weeks (and therefore an addict of Markus, and his show, and his hands, and his eyes, and his smile when Connor ducks into his shop, and his teasing laugh, and his anatomy for six weeks too), when he finds out about Hank’s impending birthday.

It’s from Reed that he learns about it, asshole that he is, when he makes some snide remark about Connor’s partner nearing one step closer to retirement.

Coming back from the break room with his coffee mug cradled in his hands, Connor drops back down at his desk and stares at Hank until he notices him, then asks when his birthday is.

“None of your goddamn business, that’s when.”

When Connor just keeps staring, Hank throws his hands up in annoyance and turns to face him properly over their desks. 

“You’re a detective, why don’t you detect it?”

“Hank!”

Something that sounds like “Wednesday next week you punk-ass jerk,” if he squints is mumbled across the desk, before Hank’s up and pulling on his jacket. 

“Come on, I’m bored. I want to go back and talk to the victim’s sister, something she was saying didn’t add up with what we saw on the security footage.”

Then he’s loping out the door and Connor’s trailing after him.

He mulls over the problem of what to get Hank as a birthday present all day, and still hasn’t thought of anything suitable by the time it’s dark and they’re sprawled out across from each other in a booth at Hank’s favourite bar. Hank’s sulking because the case is still all smoke and mirrors. 

Connor gazes absently around the bar as they sip their beers. He could get Hank any bottle of whiskey in existence and he’d probably be happy, but Connor wants to give him something a little more special than that. He’s his partner, after all, and if it hadn’t been for his grudging, grumbled, guidance the past few weeks Connor isn’t too sure he would be coping. 

In all honestly, Hank has become a friend, despite his surly façade. Connor’s first real friend in a while, truth be told. Pushing and pushed to be the strongest and fastest and academically, physically, mentally and in any other capacity possible hadn’t exactly made him popular nor had it won him many friends.

He’s lasted a long time pretending he doesn’t need anyone, but the relationship he’s built with Hank has been welcome, more than he’d realised it would be.

So, if he could only think of something to honour that… 

Hank is busy watching the game on the TV screen beyond Connor’s head, and Connor’s thoughts drift inevitably to Markus, though firmly not to last night’s show.

He wakes the next morning wound up in his grey sheets with a splitting headache, and the knowledge of what to get Hank so acute in the forefront of his mind that he can’t tell if he dreamed it or thought of it just before he went to sleep, or quite what happened.

Perhaps his brain had combined his longing for Markus with his longing to get Hank a great gift because it’s so simple.

Doughnuts.

Hank’s love of a certain store that supplied all things deep-fried and iced was what had allowed Connor to stumble across Markus, the real in-life actual human Markus, the Markus who laughed rich and smiled quick and who’s eyes were too beautiful it was practically inhuman.

Resolved, he clambers from bed and makes a beeline for the shower.

It wouldn’t do for him to pay Markus a visit smelling of the too-much beer from last night. He ponders what to wear for far longer than he ought too, before he settles on jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt under his navy trench coat, figuring getting out the door in anything other than the usual digs Markus saw him in is preferable.

When he pulls up outside the shop, he’s surprised to find he’s a little nervous. He’s never walked in there without Hank charging ahead or looming at his shoulder and, whether he knew it or not, acting as a buffer for Connor’s excited nerves, a source to divert attention to if he couldn’t think of anything to say, a comforting, calming presence. 

Because it’s Saturday he expects the shop to be a little quieter. Being so close to the University – literally on its doorstep – most patrons are students and he assumed they’d all be sleeping or studying, which was what had represented his Saturdays as a student, at least. The surprise of the shop being just as full as ever is another knock to his nerves – most of the little tables are taken, as are most seats at the bar looking out onto the street, and there’s a queue before the counter.

He waits his turn in the line with patience, happy for the time to calm himself a little because he’s also thrown by not seeing Markus on the floor yet. His heart has sunk a little and he realises how much he was looking forward to just clapping eyes on him, even though he saw him just yesterday (and his body, the night before that). Markus’ moody wannabe girlfriend is serving at the counter, her hair swept over her shoulder. She uses it as a screen to hide her face as she tucks her head down and pretends not to see Connor, even though he’s next in the queue. Simon waves him over however, so Connor just ignores North and strolls over to him.

“Hey Connor,” Simon greets with a friendly smile. “Long time, no see!”

Connor grins and blushes, but sure as heck isn’t ashamed.

“Markus is out back,” Simon carries on, oblivious to North’s huff. “Shall I go get him for you?”

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great,” Connor knows he’s bright red, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Simon sticks his head out back and howls “MARKUS YOUR FAVOURITE CUSTOMER IS HERE” for the whole damn store to hear and Connor closes his eyes in mortification and resists the urge to hiss at him to be quiet.

Nevertheless, he quietly thrills when Markus’ voice echoes back with, “What’s he doing here on a Saturday?” before the man himself emerges from the kitchen, dusting flour from off his green apron with equally floury hands.

“What are you doing here on a Saturday?” Markus demands of him, not looking at all embarrassed.  
Connor is singing internally. 

“Shouldn’t you be off doing whatever it is off-duty detectives do on their weekends? What do you do at your weekends, by the way?”

Connor beams back at him, leaning as close as he can get across the glass counter, “Uh, I’m literally the most boring person ever at the weekend. I just… sleep.” Telling Markus that he spends most of his weekends nowadays frantically jacking off, as much and as often as he can handle, to memories of his shows is not appropriate talk for a public place. And it’s definitely not the right time to come clean to Markus just how well he knows his secret. And his anatomy.

Markus’ grin lights up Connor’s entire freaking life. “Come on, don’t play with me, you can’t possibly just sleep for two days straight. What else do you do?”

I daydream about kissing you, Connor thinks, in between wanking while fantasizing about your perfect body and if there’s any time left I have terrifying internal conversations with myself about what a pure and utter bastard asshole I am for keeping it from you that I know you make part of your living jerking off for strangers on the internet two nights a week.

“Normal weekend stuff?” Connor tries to stop his eyes glazing over as the image of Markus cumming at the end of last Thursday’s show hits him full force. I know what you were doing Thursday night, he tells Markus in his mind. I know that you liked the nipple clamps so much that your cock was spouting like a fucking fountain. I know what you’re doing tomorrow at 10pm…

He blinks hard to clear the image, and forges on valiantly, “Uh, like I said, I’m totally boring. Unless we’re close to cracking a case, then we just work through the weekend. Usually, I sleep, and I catch up on all the exercise I don’t have time for in the week, working out and running. And being Hank’s partner means a lot of visits to this one doughnut place, so keeping fit is necessary…”

“I suppose the doughnuts don’t go hand in hand with a good physique, but you don’t really need to worry,” Markus laughs, resting his forearms on the counter, his fingertips sticky with drying dough and millimetres from Connor’s.

Connor looks at him and murmurs “Coming here is worth running a few extra k’s,” even as he thinks about how good those hands would feel gripping his…

“Um, anyway!” He carries on loudly, suddenly aware of North lingering alongside Markus even though the latte she’s been making is finished, scowling at Connor with furious eyes. “I didn’t just come here to distract you and waste your time.”

“That’s a shame, you’re more than welcome to,” Markus grins, and Connor blushes.

“Ahem. Ah, actually, I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh, I wonder what that could possibly be,” a voice drawls sarcastically from out the back. Process of elimination tells Connor the snark is from Josh, but that’s hardly a surprise. 

Markus leans back without looking and casually pushes the kitchen door shut, then gestures for Connor to duck under the swing-up panel on the counter to huddle with him in the corner, giving him a modicum of privacy, one hand somehow resting on Connor’s hip.

“What do you need?”

“It’s Hank’s birthday next week,” Connor explains in a rush, making eye-contact with North over Markus’ shoulder as she tries to listen in. Markus notices and his expression turns angry when he looks back at her, waving her away impatiently.

“It’s Hank’s birthday, and I had the idea that instead of just buying up your whole stock, I’d commission some sort of unique doughnuts from you guys, a flavour not on the menu? Something just for him?”

Markus looks a little taken aback, pulling away from Connor a little, eyes confused.

“Only if it’s not too much trouble!” Connor all but screams at him, voice high-pitched with nerves, wringing his hands as he babbles. “I’ll pay! Anything, whatever, it’s fine, I know it’s a lot to ask and it’s short notice, and it’s stupid, but- “

“Shhhh,” Markus murmurs absently, grabbing his arm once again, this time to tow him into the kitchen.  
By the time Connor’s stumbled through the door after him and straightened up Markus’ smile is back in place, eyes warm, “That’s sweet of you, and the good news is Hank’s easily pleased with anything chocolate. It’s a great idea, I’d love to help. What were you thinking, specifically?”

“I… don’t really know,” Connor admits slowly, because he hadn’t thought this far ahead, had been too preoccupied with nerves and excitement of more time spent with Markus. 

“What does he like, aside from chocolate doughnuts and abusing the privileges of an officer of the law by butting through queues?”

“Uh, whiskey, beer, alcohol just as a general substance…” Connor is distracted staring about the kitchen, which is larger than the storefront indicated. The back wall is nothing but ovens and deep-fryers, and in the centre is a double-sided station of stoves and counters. Josh is standing there, methodically dipping doughnuts into a bowl of pink strawberry frosting and placing them on a rack to set. He glances up at them and rolls his eyes and seems about to say something before Markus shoots him a look and he turns back to his work. He’s surrounded by bags, bowls, boxes and containers of various types of sugars, ganache, glazes, icings, sprinkles, and chopped nuts, some of which are returned to the bank of fridges to Connor’s right.

Something that looks like white chocolate sauce is bubbling softly on a stove, and Markus stirs it as he prompts him over his shoulder.

“Connor?”

“Oh, right, ah…” Connor notices a shelf in the corner, a few bottles of gin and rum, some Kahlua… and there on the far side, a bottle of whiskey. “How difficult is it to work with whiskey?”

“Nothing’s difficult for Markus,” Josh’s compliment sounds genuine.

“Could you do some sort of ganache filling?”

“Yes, easily,” Markus responds, dead pan. 

Connor gets distracted again when Markus joins Josh at the centre station to start pouring melted milk chocolate over a tray of Boston Kreme’s. 

“How do you look this fit, with all this chocolate and sugar floating around back here!” Connor demands, distracted by the bunching of Markus’ back muscles under his shirt.

“It’s no good for my profit margins if I consume my own stock. Though a bowl salted caramel may have been found empty in my office, but I will neither confirm nor deny that I had anything to do with it.”

“Wait, you have an office? You’re… the owner!?”

“Yeah.”

Once Connor’s brain manages to forcibly reject daydreaming about getting ruthlessly fucked over a desk by Markus, confusion replaces the lust.

Why the heck…? If Markus was clearly making good money from his business here, because the amount of traffic through the door alone surely meant profit – why the heck then did the guy feel the need to jerk off for hundreds of strangers twice a week?

Money couldn’t be much of an object… so… did Markus just do it out of enjoyment? Connor wasn’t one to pass judgement on anyone’s lifestyle choices, if he did it because he liked it that was his every right. But he can’t deny that the knowledge that Markus didn’t need to do it for the money, as Connor had foolishly assumed, awoke something possessive in him. Other people, not just Connor, got to watch Markus’ show, and the jealously that the whole thing was unnecessary felt like it was eating Connor alive. He knew he had no right to feel greedy for a man that wasn’t his, but it settled unhappy in his throat all the same.

Back in reality, Josh and Markus were talking the theory around whiskey ganache, and Markus was offering to do a few dummy runs.

“Right, great, sounds good,” Connor mumbled. “Uh, that would be filling right? Cos his favourite topping is the chocolate icing with the hazelnuts. Oh, and he likes the chocolate sprinkles too, or is that too much?”

“Could use chocolate flakes instead,” Josh suggests. “Bit easier to eat, don’t want to be crunching on both sprinkles and nuts…”

They go back to conferring while Connor wrestles with his emotions, now feeling out of place and awkward. He didn’t want anyone else seeing Markus, seeing his body, watching his shows, but who the hell was he to even think that way? Markus wasn’t his. He didn’t even know Connor knew. And that was the crux of the whole problem. Connor knew he should have been honest from the start but he'd denied and avoided the issue to the point that it now felt too late. The truth was, he didn't want to lose either of the capacities in which he has access to Markus. 

Markus and Josh seem to settle, unanimous and quick, on infusing the whiskey through a caramel, and Connor nods along like he understands. Markus’ hand slides around his elbow again to steer him to the door.

“Here,” Markus murmurs, when they slide back into the shop. “Let me make you a drink for the road. I’ll do a few mock-ups today and maybe call you in tomorrow to taste test? If you can drag yourself out of bed. I don’t want to leave it for during the week, when Hank’s about.”

“That’s a good idea,” Connor agrees as he ducks back under the counter and pops up the other side to find Markus holding out a pen and scrap of till receipt to him.

“Your number?”

“Right, yeah,” Connor can’t look at him because he knows he won’t be able to keep the complexity of biting jealousy and utter joy off his face, and that would be giving too much away. Markus busies himself with the coffee machine, so Connor needn’t have worried, and he’s waiting by the time Markus reappears in front of him, a takeaway cup and a paper bag in his hands.

“Thank you,” Connor tells him as he slides the paper with his number across the counter. “This really means a lot, especially at such short notice.”

“I’m happy to help, Hank’s a good guy,” Markus smiles at him, pushing the cup and bag into his hands, which Connor tries to decline, or at least pay for. 

“No, take them. You’ve given me something fun and interesting to work on, and Hank deserves something special. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Connor departs, the strawberry frosted doughnut, his favourite, almost demolished before he even unlocks his car.

*

He’s jerking off when Markus calls the next morning because of course he is, he has no fucking self-control anymore.

He’s sprawled in bed, sweaty and panting, and when his phone bursts to life on his bedside table he manages to answer, but it’s a concentrated effort not to sound too slurry.

“H’lo?”

“Connor? Hey man, it’s Markus.”

“Markus,” Connor’s voice is way too breathy, so he sits up and tries to sound properly human. “Hey, how did you get on?”

“Struck gold on the second attempt at the caramel, enough whiskey to punch through the sweetness, but not too much that it overpowers. It’s got a great aftertaste too. Feel like coming down and trying it out? This might make the menu permanently at this rate, Simon’s eaten almost an entire tray.”

“That’s brilliant,” Connor breathes, scrambling from the bed and hoping the rustling of his sheets isn’t too obvious. “Let me just grab a shower and I’ll be right down.”

“Were you still in bed?” Markus asks with a laugh. “What were you still doing in bed at midday?” Almost as soon as he’s asked the question, he breathes a quiet ‘Oh’ of realization and Connor is bright red and trembling before the sound is even fully formed.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says too fast before hanging up, then spends ten minutes with his head in his hands, horrified at himself for not denying it.

His erection well and truly curtailed, he showers slowly and reluctantly makes his way to the shop.  
Markus is pink in the cheeks when Connor sidles through the door, meeting him at the counter with a small smile.

Connor prays he won’t address it, and it seems he won’t, as he gestures for Connor to come back into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Markus turns to him the minute the door is shut behind him, “Look, I’m sorry about earlier…”

“It’s nothing,” Connor says quickly. “It’s nothing, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. So. Doughnuts?”

“Ok, yeah, over here,” Markus still won’t look him in the eye. 

Connor really doesn’t see why Markus, of all people, is being so awkward about it, and the tension that’s been created is already unbearable.

“Look,” he insists, ducking his head down to make Markus meet his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Sorry if it embarrassed you, but we all do it, right? I mean, don’t you?”

I know you do, he thinks as he watches Markus smile wryly and shrug. I know you do, because you do it live on camera and I watch. Fuck.

Suddenly his secret has become too much to bear, and the unfair balance of power in his favour is no longer tenable. It was a little easier to manage his guilt when he was only coming into the shop for a few minutes a day – it was easier to disassociate the real, gorgeous, funny man in front of him in the flesh from the faceless, bare, seductive body on the computer screen that murmured filth at him for an hour twice a week. But this, having easily become so much closer to the real Markus over the past few days, all the flirting and glances and blushing… it’s real and it’s making things too unfair.

“Look, Markus, there’s something I need to talk to you about- “ He starts, which is when North bursts in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the queue is getting pretty big Markus, I think- “ 

“I’m busy with a paying customer,” Markus snaps at her. “I’ll be out when my consult is done.” 

North scowls at Connor, and really, isn’t her shirt draping off her shoulder like that a bit inappropriate for the workplace? She bangs the door behind her as she flounces back to the shop.

“Sorry,” Markus still looks annoyed. “What were you saying?”

But Connor’s nerves are shot.

“Oh, nothing,” he fumbles, “Just that I really am grateful for all this effort you’ve gone to.”

“You’re welcome,” Markus smiles at him, and the awkwardness has finally dissipated. “But don’t thank me till you’ve tried the doughnut, you may hate it!”

Connor examines one from the rack in front of them as he picks it up. It looks just like the sorts Hank always gets – covered in chocolate and chopped nuts, with the additional chocolate flakes Josh had suggested. 

“We soaked the hazelnuts in whiskey too,” Markus tells him, before he falls silent and watches Connor take a bite.

It’s fucking delicious, as he knew it would be.

“This is amazing, it’s perfect!” Connor crows through his mouthful, the whiskey caramel filling leaving a slight smoky aftertaste.

Markus looks elated, and they spend the next fifteen minutes hashing out the delivery plan for Wednesday before North makes another appearance, looking livid.

“I’ll call you on Wednesday,” Markus tells Connor as they head back across the kitchen, and Connor can’t help but find his hand, squeezes it just before he ducks through the door.

He’s under the partition and across the shop before Markus can stop him, and barrels out into the sunshine with a really stupid grin on his face.

*

It’s Markus’ show in ten minutes, and after seeing him today, touching him for the first time, Connor has been thrilled and tormented in equal measure. He’s had a blank text to Markus open on his phone since he left the shop and has been merrily torturing himself imagining all the things he could say, mostly while lazing about in bed.

His resolve is steel until it cannot hold any longer.

He breaks.

Naked on his bed at 9:50pm, laptop open on Markus’ page, he texts him.

A part of him wants to say see you and your gorgeous abs in ten minutes, but that is so not the way to come clean. Having his number is too much power, but somewhere, if he’s honest, a part of him wants Markus to associate the show to him, wants Markus to take the responsibility away from Connor by figuring it out too. 

Hey man, what are you up to?

He hits send, feeling chilled and hot all at once, a cavern opening in his chest.

Hey Connor, not a whole lot, just got out of the shower, Markus replies a few minutes later – God that image catches him off-guard, the thought of Markus dripping wet, his skin glistening with moisture…

Do you have time for a chat, he asks, knowing full well Markus doesn’t since the show is in four minutes now and the feed is white – Markus must be at his computer, naked and warm from the water. That thought makes Connor’s cock thicken, and he rubs it absently even as he reads Markus’ reply.

Not right now, sorry. I can give you a call later if you need. Is everything OK though?

The feed begins, and yes, there he is.

Yes, I’m fine! Just wanted to go over Wednesday a bit more, I’ll have to come buzz you through when you arrive, and there’s a security check and all that.

He holds his breath when Markus greets everyone, asks the usual conversation prompting questions. One hand is out of the shot, must be holding his phone and texting Connor back, because he gets one last text of Sure thing, I’ll call in maybe an hour? Is that too late?

Almost at the same time as Connor finishes reading the text, his usual private chat window with Markus pops up. He types there first 'Hi gorgeous, did you have a good day?' before he responds to Markus’ text with nah that’s not too late, that sounds good, thanks and throws his phone down the end of the bed. Two different conversations, one with real-Markus and one with headless-on-screen-torso is too hard for his lust-addled brain to maintain.

'My day was good, baby, very good! I’m looking forward to this show tonight.'

'Oh yeah, what do you have planned?'

'You’ll see… I’ve been wired up and needing this all damn day, can’t wait to finally let out the tension…'

On screen Markus has started as he always does, using the long, slow strokes he seems to like.

Connor huffs a happy sigh and settles back against his pillows to enjoy the sight.

Comments and requests fill the main chat, and Markus reaches one long-fingered hand out to his keyboard, typing with surprising speed.

'What do you want to see, baby?' appears in their private chat, before he huffs a laugh at someone suggesting he use a dildo on himself back on the main chat.

“I don’t own one, sorry. If you want to watch something like that, you’re on the wrong page!”

'Just tease the tip?' Connor asks. 'I love it when you do that. You make the hottest noises.'

Markus listens to him and does what he requests, like always, and just few seconds of rubbing his slit and thumbing the underside of the tip has him moaning helplessly.

'Just like that, fuck, I love it,' Connor tells him.

“Oh, baby, feels so good, you know it feels so good…” Markus groans back.

'Keep going, for as long as you can stand. Fuck I’m so hard, you look so perfect, sound so damn sexy, please keep going for me.'

Connor pumps himself helplessly, cheeks flaming, squeezing himself after every second stroke to try and keep himself under control.

“I’d go all night if you wanted, as long as you’re watching,” Markus grits out through what sounds like clenched teeth. His cock is twitching with every press of his fingers, and he alternates rubbing his slit with thumbing the whole head.

'Fuck, I can’t, I’m going to cum,' Connor tells him.

'You know the rules,' Markus types back, and Connor can’t help his wail.

'Please, I need to.'

“You always need to, nothing but a desperate little slut for me, aren’t you?”

'Yes, yes, yes, please…'

“All mine,” Markus growls, and no one else in the main chat seems to exist anymore, it’s just him and Connor. No. Him and Sleuth. “My needy boy.”

“All yours,” Connor whimpers out as he types, has to stop stroking himself, his cock hard and dripping.  
'I’m throbbing for you, so desperate all over for you. I need you. My cock is so hard I can’t touch it anymore. And my hole is aching, I need you to fill it up. Please let me cum.'

Markus growls and rises to his feet, stepping closer to the screen, stroking himself properly and without abandon now, right up close to the webcam.

“This what you want? Huh? You want this in you?” His voice is disembodied, far away. “You want this inside you, stretching you open, filling you all up? You want me to fuck you, don’t you baby?” 

Connor cums at the thought, the image of Markus’ cock close up on the screen, his voice, his words, the feeling of his hand in Connor’s from earlier today still imprinted on his skin.

Markus has cum too, his cock dripping with it. The main chat is in raptures, comments of delight and envy flooding the screen, but Connor doesn’t have the energy to type, let alone pull his computer any closer, and their private chat is still quiet.

Markus collapses back onto his computer chair, grin evident in his voice as he wishes his viewers goodnight.

'Was that as good for you as it was for me?' He’s typed for Connor alone.

'Can’t. Move.' It’s not an exaggeration.

'Good. Have to go, baby, something’s come up. You’ll be back Thursday?'

Connor notices the time, two minutes till 11pm, and swears.

'See you then.'

He’s still cleaning up when Markus calls, so he puts him on speakerphone, resting his phone on the bathroom counter as he wipes himself down with a warm washcloth.

“Hey Connor, sorry it’s so late, I had some business to take care of. What’s up?”

In contrast to Markus’ smooth voice, Connor still sounds fucking wrecked, stammering out a weak, “Hey, thanks for calling.”

“You wanted to go over Wednesday?” Markus prompts.

“Yeah, yeah that right. Sorry to make you call so late.”

“It’s fine. I’m just getting into bed.”

Connor audibly shivers at the thought, dries himself off and carries his phone back into his room. 

“Yeah, me too. OK, so the main thing is that you give me a call when you’re approaching, or else you won’t even get let through the gate. I’ll call through to the security box to buzz you through and I’ll meet you outside. The place is a maze even to me.”

“It’s alright for civilians to be on the premises, then?” Markus’ voice is light and teasing.

Connor laughs as he clambers back into bed, the phone off speaker and tucked into his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll tell them not to sic the dogs on you, if you behave yourself.”

“I always behave!” Markus cries, and Connor has to fight against insisting that’s not true, with what he had just born witness to.

He settles back against the pillows for a second time in under an hour with Markus’ voice in his ear and can’t help a sigh.

“It’s late,” he says regretfully. 

“Yeah,” Markus yawns widely down the phone. “I gotta be up at 4:30 to get to the shop.”

“4:30! Even I don’t get up till after that, why on earth do you- “ he was starting to ask why Markus holds the show so late but catches himself. “Why are you up so late! You weren’t sitting up just for me, were you?”

“No… just needs must, you know?”

God, yes, does Connor fucking know.

*

Hank is in an utterly foul mood on Wednesday, snarling at anyone who comes within a 10-foot radius and outright growling at anyone who tries to wish him a Happy Birthday. He grumbles to Connor that if anyone so much as thinks the words in his presence, he’ll shoot them. This is punctuated by such a heavy scowl that Connor can’t help but laugh.

“Honestly, Hank, I don’t get you. People want to wish you a Happy Birthday-“ He ignores Hank’s strangled threats of death from across the desk, “- because, for some reason, they like you and care about you and want you to have a nice day!”

“Fuck off.”

Connor just grins at him, which immediately makes Hank suspicious.

“What have you done, boy?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, you’ve done something,” Hank insists. “You always smile like a goddamn creepy lunatic when you’re lying.”

“Gee thanks. And relax. I haven’t done anything.”

“You have!” Hank’s reply is tart, as he gesticulates at him with a pen in a way that is probably supposed to be menacing. “I mean it, Connor! No funny business, no presents, no nothing! In fact, if you say any word starting with either ‘h’ or ‘b’ between now and the end of the day I’ll- “

“You’ll shoot me. Got it. Noted,” feigning innocence, Connor turns back to his monitor, aware of Hank’s mistrustful glare on the side of his face continuing for several more minutes. Then suddenly his partner is standing and hauling on his jacket, flapping around a bit when one arm gets stuck because he’s too busy glaring at Reed across the room.

“Come on, you little goof. We should go and track down the gardener, his name has cropped up a few too many times for me to feel comfortable with.”

Connor lunges for his arm, half falling across the desk. “No! Not yet!”

Hank’s eyes narrow in suspicion before he shakes him off, “And. Why. Not?”

“I’ve got so much paperwork that I’m behind on,” Connor pleads, the first thing that springs to mind.  
It’s not even a lie. “You know what Fowler’s like, if I get too late on my reports, we’ll both pay for it. And you know how much it sucks when you leave the paperwork till last in a case…” Hank was legendary for leaving his reports till the last minute, as well as for complaining bitterly how much work he’d made for himself by doing so.

“Let me finish this, then we’ll go,” Connor promises him.

“Fine,” Hank grumbles, dropping back into his chair and turning his monitor back on.

Connor breathes a sigh of relief and does spend the next half hour dutifully plugging away at his paperwork. He’s so absorbed in transcribing a witness statement that when his phone lights up next to his keyboard, Markus’ name on the screen, he almost misses the call.

He leaps up with his phone to ear and scurries into the break room, “Hey! How’s it going?”

“Morning, Connor! It’s all perfect, we’re nearly there.”

“Great,” Connor breathes. “Thanks so much. I’ll call the security guard and I’ll meet you out front. What car should we expect?”

Markus rattles off the make and reg number, and they bid each other goodbye. Connor calls Jerry out at the guard gate as he hurries down the hall. 

“Jerry, hey. I’ve got two civilians, eta 5 minutes, black Lancer, registration 504TYG. Buzz them through for me, would you?”

“Right you are,” Jerry yawns.

Connor’s just stepping outside when the car pulls in, and his heart clenches in his chest in excitement as Markus climbs out the driver’s door and bounds over to him, grinning through the snow, leaving Simon to wrangle the boxes of doughnuts out of the car alone.

“Hey Connor,” Markus breathes, when they’re close enough, and Connor can’t control himself, reaches out. The thrill of Markus striding towards him is overwhelming. Connor has to physically resist every instinct, when Markus reaches for him too, not to grab his collar and kiss him. He settles for locking him in a tight, quick hug instead, before releasing him quickly and going to help Simon with the boxes, the topmost of which is teetering.

“Thanks,” Simon looks relieved.

“How many are there?” Connor asks, trying to count the boxes. “I thought we settled on 2 dozen?”

“Oh, you did,” Simon said airily as they make their way to the door. “Until Markus got a bit too excited.”

“These are going to be a staple on the menu,” Markus insists, siphoning away Connor’s boxes with one hand and waving away his protest with another. Connor buzzes them into the building with his access card and holds the door open while they duck inside.

He takes the time to appreciate Markus’ ass in his tight black jeans, the way his green sweater off-sets his skin and eyes as he glances back while he walks ahead of him. Simon rolls his eyes and shoots him a knowing look, but Connor is enjoying the sight too much to even blush and shoos him ahead too.

“If Hank pulls out a gun and starts shooting, get behind me,” he warns them as they wander down the warren of corridors and corners. “He wouldn’t actually shoot me. I don’t think.”

“Is that likely?” Simon wonders.

“Yes. He’s threatened to shoot me about five times today already, which is three more than usual and it’s not even 10:30.”

To his credit, when Hank he sees them approaching his desk, he does hesitate in going for his gun, though his hand does rest on it as his eyes flick to Connor in anger. He spotted the doughnut boxes instantly, and they’re probably the only reason he hasn’t thrown his coffee mug, contents and all, at Connor’s head. 

Yet.

His free hand does twitch quite severely around the handle like he really wants to.

“Why,” he spits to his partner when Connor reaches him, his eyes narrow.

“You know exactly why,” Connor holds up his hands in surrender. 

“I warned you- “

“Shut up and eat a doughnut. New flavour, Markus has never done them before, and I had them made especially for you for your b-word.”

“Whiskey caramel, Hank,” Markus starts to report, hands raised placatingly, but he doesn’t bother saying anything more because Hank has already whipped a box open and is eating a doughnut, a look of bliss on his face.

He grunts in lieu of saying thank you; three boxes are generously placed in the break room, which are converged upon instantly by their colleagues, but Hank hoards the other three to himself at his desk. Simon and Markus get their hands shaken with a gruff thank you to each, and Connor gets a punch in the should that turns into a brief one-arm hug around his neck, over as soon as it begins.

“I’ll take that,” Connor says happily, before offering to see Markus and Simon back to the car. Simon, however, doesn’t appear to need guidance, just goes pelting off ahead of them down the hall, Markus’ car keys somehow already in his hand.

Connor and Markus wander together far more slowly, and Simon is waiting in the car by the time they’re at the door to the building, pointedly not looking at them.

Markus smiles at Connor and raises a hand to grip his shoulder, and once again Connor has to fight all his instincts and urges. He allows himself one longing glance at Markus’ mouth, one squeeze of his hand and the most genuine ‘thank you’ he’s ever said, before he lets him go and steps back inside.

If Markus is as disappointed as Connor is, he hides it well, just waves through the glass of the door and is gone.

Hank’s still going on the doughnuts, four others now missing from the box, when Connor drops back down at his desk.

“So, did you finally kiss him?”

“What!” Connor scrambles to sit up straight. Hank looks at him like he’s crazy.

“Markus. Did you finally find the balls to kiss him?”

“What are you talking about!? You’re mad, oh my god, all the sugar has reached your brain, finally, and I don’t know, it’s like crystallized and encrusted it or something, I don’t even know, because that is insane, Hank, utterly insane- “

“Connor.”

“You’re crazy, I’m going to have to have you committed because I don’t, I can’t even believe…” he’s up and moving and gone, rambling like a maniac as he goes, and it takes too long to realise Hank’s following. He follows him until they’re in Connor’s car, and he’s clutching the steering wheel like it might give him some control, some decency back even though he hasn’t even turned the engine on.

Hank is looking at him, eyes surprisingly gentle. Just waiting.

Connor breathes.

“You shouldn’t have left your doughnuts behind; you know what Reed’s like. He’ll probably lace them with- “

“Connor. You are my partner. And you are my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’ve been a detective for a long time, son.” 

Connor can’t look at him, doesn’t have the courage until Hank says, “It’s alright, kid. You can talk to me.”

So Connor breaks and tells him everything, the whole sorry story right from the start, seeing Markus’ show the night before his first day, the shock and horror and delight of recognising him in the doughnut shop, his crush on the real man developing into something so far beyond his control and so very distorted by what was going on between them online, without Markus’ knowledge or consent twice a week, and now the texting and the phone calls and the flirting and the whole confusing mess he’s let this become…

Hank is quiet, and when he finally speaks it’s to ask what the fuck a webcam is.

“Oh my god that is so not the point!” Connor presses his forehead to his steering wheel and tries not to scream. Mostly he’s just horrified and disgusted in himself for the sick and unfair advantage he’s taken of Markus. Saying it all out loud has made everything crystal clear. He’s so very, very in the wrong. God, how could he do this!?

“I have fucked up so badly,” he whispers, not realising he’s crying until Hank puts his arm around him properly and pulls him into his side. Connor goes with it; lets Hank prop his head against his shoulder because he’s too frozen and numb to do anything else. 

“What have I done?”

“Can’t change what you’ve done,” Hank tells him gruffly. “Can’t change what’s happened up until this point, but right now you have to gather yourself together and you have to come clean. You know that. You know that, absolutely. You have to go to him and make it right, tell him the truth and let him decide how things go from here.”

“Do you hate me now,” Connor closes his eyes as he asks, knowing he needs to brace against the pain of Hank saying yes.

“Of course not, you little shit. Now get it together. I’m getting out of the car and you are driving over to the shop and telling Markus everything. If you need to come by tonight, you can. Feel free. Any hour.”

Connor just nods and straightens up to let Hank slide out of the car.

“You can do this, Connor. You have to do this.”

“I know,” Connor doesn’t feel himself say.

How he makes it to the shop is beyond him, only somehow, he’s standing among a press of other customers, waiting his turn in the queue.

“Connor?” Simon spots him, eyes surprised, then elated. “Connor, get over here!”

Connor goes obediently to the counter and ducks through when Simon lifts the partition for him.  
Simon’s grin is borderline manic as he claps his shoulder.

“Here to see Markus? He’s in his office. Alone. Alone in his office. Door down the end, shut it behind you,” then Connor is being pushed down a short corridor that runs next to the kitchen and he’s knocking at the open door without feeling a single thing of it.

“Connor!” Markus jumps up from behind his desk and comes towards him, looking confused and ecstatic all at once, that perfect cacophony which is usually Connor’s cross to bear.

“Markus,” he mumbles, then tries again. “Markus, I gotta talk to you.”

“What’s up?” Markus looks concerned now, leaning around Connor to shut the door behind him, then putting his arms around him. “Do you want to sit?”

Connor spares a glance at the single chair before the desk and shakes his head. He can’t run as easily if he’s sitting.

“What’s going on?” Markus lifts his hands to squeeze Connor’s shoulders, and the prolonged, tight grip sends a series of tremors all the way to Connor’s bone marrow. “Are you alright? You look a little… not alright? Is Hank with you?”

“No. No Hank. He’s probably comatose under his desk from a sugar and whiskey caramel overload by now,” Connor answers absently, gazing up into Markus’ perfect eyes. “And no, I’m not alright. I’m so completely not alright.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” and it’s Markus’ fault because his voice is so soft and gentle, except it’s not his fault at all, it’s totally Connor’s, because he presses up and just barely kisses him right when North barges through the door.

“Markus - oh.”

They pull apart as she gapes, her expression somewhere between fury and heartbreak.

That’s when Connor runs.

He’s hiding out at home fifteen minutes later, literally under his bed because it’s roomy under there and he just feels like Hank already knows he flaked and panicked and gapped it and is on his way to kill him, when his phone rings.

Markus.

He ignores it, because he is so good at adulting, lays his head down on his carpet with his phone by his face and watches it light up, repeatedly, with calls.

He sleeps, or at least he must do, because when Hank finally starts pounding on his front door and hollering his name for the whole damn building to hear, Connor jerks up and hits his head. His nearly depleted cell battery tells him it’s just after 5pm and he got home around 12:30. 

He lets Hank in only because he knows he will break the door down one way or another if it comes to it, and he doesn’t want to give his cranky cat-lady neighbour any more problems to screech at him about.

Hank is so not impressed. He stalks in and pitches himself onto Connor’s couch with a scowl, though he does throw Connor a bottle of beer from the 6-pack he plonks onto Connor’s coffee table.

“So, I called by the shop.”

“Course you did,” Connor mutters, feeling churlish as he sits in the armchair opposite, once he’s fetched a bottle opener. 

“Don’t you sass me! Markus was a goddam wreck! The boy was beside himself! What were you thinking Connor! You were supposed to be honest with him, not try to kiss him and then run off without saying anything at all!”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Connor bites back, knowing that’s exactly what Hank wants to hear him say, and that it’s the truth. “I haven’t been thinking clearly this whole time.”

“Evidently,” Hank finishes his beer and reaches for another. 

“You’re not crashing here,” Connor warns him, hating the way Hank’s making him feel like a scolded child.

“And you’re not avoiding work tomorrow. Your ass better be at your desk when I get in or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“You can’t just threaten and bully me into doing everything you say all the time!!”

“Why the hell can’t I? Up until Markus, it’s worked pretty well.”

“Don’t say what I know you’re thinking,” Connor warns him, finally taking a sip of his beer. “I already know, and I don’t want to hear it. I can’t handle you saying it.”

The thought of Hank calling him a coward is too much.

Hank fixes him a look before finding the remote and switching on the TV, “Not saying a word. But you will have to do something about it eventually Connor.”

“I know that.”

Hank stays until 10pm, though mercifully he says nothing more about Markus, except to mention the guy was clearly worried about Connor, had no idea what was going on and was furious at North.

“He says he called you a billion times,” Hank tells him as he heads to the door, shrugging into his coat.

“I know, I ignored them.”

Hank just sighs and calls him a dumbass. Connor shuts the door a little too quick and too loud behind his retreating back.

He’s not ashamed that Hank is disappointed in him – it means he loves him too. He’s also not ashamed that Hank’s disappointment stings just as much as the fact that his lips had barely started to brush Markus’ before North had interrupted. That just plain hurts, that he’d physically had what he wanted so badly with no repercussions for the barest, briefest of split seconds before it was torn away.

Connor is furious with himself, there’s no two ways about it. Now that Hank isn’t here, he can’t distract himself from his yearning for Markus.

Once he plugs his dead phone in to charge and turns it back on, the screen takes about five minutes to sort itself out and properly display the number of missed calls and unread texts he’s received, largely from Markus.

Connor can’t bear to talk to him, to hear his perfect fucking voice sound broken and upset and know that it’s all on him. He sends him a text without listening to his voicemails or reading any of the long queue of messages – just opens the conversation and types ‘I’m so sorry. I can explain everything. I will explain everything. But not tonight.’ He sends it and turns his phone off again, not wanting to leave Markus any window in which to reply.

*

The next day is as shitty as Connor knew it would be. He woke to Hank trying to beat his door down, insisting he wasn’t allowed to take the day off because “being a punk-ass jerk isn’t an illness, Connor, now get dressed.”

He did manage to successfully beg off having to go to the station, which Hank relented to. The plans for the day didn’t really take them there anyway. They were closing in on their main suspect, and the case was getting fervently intense with the promise of concrete DNA evidence and an ensuing arrest, hopefully before the end of the week. Forensics had been working themselves to the bone.

Because Hank was a grade-A asshole, though, he had zero intention of avoiding the shop. It was the first place he drove to after Connor was finally ready to hit the road. He thankfully parks a block over, but they did have a half hour long screaming match in the car about whether the time was right for Connor to show his face, explain himself and try to make amends.

Connor won, barely, and only because Hank’s hunger won over, and he stays resolutely in the car while Hank stamps off down the street.

He does check his phone for the first time, scrolling through Markus’ desperate and confused messages from yesterday with increasing guilt – they followed the same vein; Markus went from confused to worried to angry to sad and back again, begging to know where Connor was, why he’d run off, if he was alright, what the hell had Markus done wrong.

Markus had finally given up around 4pm yesterday, it seemed, and the only other txt was in reply to Connor’s night-time apology, which had been sent about an hour after Connor had switched his phone back off – ‘I’ll be here’.

Connor sighs and thumps his head back against the passenger seat headrest. He doesn’t open his eyes until fifteen minutes later, when Hank finally climbs back into the car, empty-handed and scowling.

“What happened, what took you?” Connor grumbles as Hank starts the car.

“I ate in there, while bitching with Josh at counter about you. No sign of Markus, not that you care. Simon said he called in sick. I didn’t get you anything to eat, you don’t deserve it.”

“Oh my god,” Connor mutters under his breath, because Hank could be such an asshole sometimes.

All in all, it was a long and shitty day, nothing went right in their investigation into the gardener, and they came away with more questions than answers.

“It’s karma,” Hank tells him when he drops him home. “Because you’re being such a little bitch about - “

Connor slams his door in his face for the second night in a row.

10pm rolls around and he rouses himself from where he dropped down on his bed the moment he got through the door to turn on his computer. He half-expects the show to be cancelled, but no, there’s Markus, in all his pretty, naked glory.

Connor drinks in the sight of him, missing him so intensely, so sorry and sick, but God he looks so good… He tries to behave normal, when Markus messages him as per usual, but his mind is so caught up and sad that he doesn’t think he comes across well.

He’s oddly jealous of himself – or rather, of whoever Markus thinks Sleuth is, and the obvious comfort he takes in their communication without knowing it’s really Connor.

'God I’ve missed you these past few days', Markus, or rather Devi4nt, the username he’d changed to in order to tease Sleuth, types.

'I’ve missed you too', Connor tells him, both the real man and the online persona, which are too tied up and tangled in his head, impossible to separate. 'Are you OK?'

'No. Things in my personal life have just gone utterly to shit. I thought things were going in a certain direction with someone I cared about… but for him to treat me the way he has, to hurt me this fucking badly… I was wrong, obviously. It just hurts to realise he had the capacity to be so cruel. I didn’t expect it of him. I thought he was perfect, to be honest.'

Connor so desperately wants to fix what he’s broken, but of course all he succeeds in doing is making things ten times worse, as is his wont.

'Forget about him for now. For the next hour just focus on me.'

'You always know what to say to comfort me. I want to thank you.'

The screen changes as the normal chat room disappears, and Markus is talking, his feed appearing next to their chat.

“I’m making tonight a private show, all for you, baby.”

Connor groans and can’t get out of his underwear fast enough.

'The things you fucking do to me… I don’t deserve such kindness.'

“Yes, you do,” Markus insists. “I want you to touch yourself for me. Copy me. Nice and slow.”

'I hate slow', Connor tells him, even though he is obediently matching the speed of Markus’ strokes, eyeing the other man’s cock and trying not to drool.

“I know, that’s why I’m making you do it.”

'Smug asshole.'

“Watch your mouth, or you’ll get punished for real. Tell me how it feels?”

'Like hell. I hate it.'

Markus just laughs, though he does increase his speed a little. He’s different tonight, a hard, rough edge to him that doesn’t usually come so easily or so early. The usual playfulness and teasing quickly disappears in favour of strict commands.

Half an hour later, Connor’s been dangling on the precipice of orgasm for too long, desperate and having to pull his hand away when it gets too much, when Markus whispers what he’s been hoping for and dreading all along.

“Are you close?”

'So close.'

“Good boy. Now edge.”

Connor wails out loud at that, one handing fumbling to type 'cant'.

“You can and you will. Edge for me. Get yourself there, right there, and then take your hands away. Do it!” The last words are barked with such brutality that Connor’s hips leave the bed, his back arching as his tight balls and dripping cock so desperately seek completion. Wrenching his hands away from himself is torture and he yells again as he collapses back onto the bed, writhing through his sobs so the wracking tremors and guttural need can subside.

“Please,” he cries out loud, before he remembers Markus can’t hear.

'Please, no more', he types, brain fuzzy and vision blurred. 'I can’t.'

“Did you edge?”

'Yes!'

“I suppose I believe you,” Connor’s ears are rushing so bad he almost misses the next part. “Wet your fingers and touch your hole. Don’t touch anywhere else.”

“Oh God!” Connor groans, but he does it, one fingertip nudging at himself.

'Can I put it in?'

Markus pretends to think, “Hmmmm, I suppose you deserve it. Just one, slowly, in and out.”

Connor’s eyes roll back as he does as he’s told, and in a fit of pique, unable to type, he picks up his phone and films a short video of him fingering himself. His phone is already hooked up to the computer to charge, so it’s nothing to attach the video clip to Markus over the chat.

He knows when Markus gets it because he gasps, then his voice turns throaty.

“Oh, you perfect boy, look at your greedy little hole. Baby, that looks so good, you know I want to taste you so bad.”

Connor has moved on to two fingers now and films another clip of him fucking himself even faster, his helplessly ignored cock bobbing red and leaking above.

“Fuck,” Markus moans, “Fuck, you look so good, oh God, my gorgeous baby boy! That’s it, baby, fill that little hole for me!”

Connor’s too far gone for anything else, can’t type, can’t even keep his eyes open, just listens to Markus’ voice groaning praise and sin in his ears.

He holds out until Markus seems to take pity and hisses at him to cum, which he does almost at the command. 

Markus is so gone, after, and Connor watches through hazy eyes as he cums, his cock spurting all over his hands, and longs to watch his face too.

“Thank you so much, baby,” the smile is clear in Markus’ voice, once their panting has calmed, sweat drying. “I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

'I’d be nothing without you', Connor types, before he deletes it. 

'I hope things work out OK for you,' He says instead. 'You know, in the real world.'

“Yeah,” Markus sighs, his sadness back. “Yeah, so do I.” 

They bid each other goodnight and sign off quickly, nothing more to say. When Connor gets out of the shower and climbs into bed, there’s a missed call from Markus, and a subsequent voicemail.

“Connor,” he sighs, his voice exhausted, and a quick glance at the time tells Connor he left the message immediately after logging off the site. “Connor. I don’t know what’s going on, but I really want to talk with you. Please call me back when you get this.” 

Connor, predictably, does not.

*

He’s opened one great big fuck-off can of worms, to hear Hank tell it, and he doesn’t even know anything about last night (nor that Connor snuck off to the bathroom to take a picture of his cock, which is hard and red just remembering, and sends it to Markus’ inbox on the site, then jacks off like a madman in two minutes flat).

Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. He obsessively checks his phone, waiting for a response, which Hank puts down to his pining over Markus. He essentially sprinting headlong in the wrong direction – instead of coming clean to Markus he’s now compounding his lies and making the whole sorry affair progressively worse.

But his lust has overridden all sense, and when Markus replies via the site, a completely and utterly filthy paragraph of a message that largely revolves around how he wants to tie Connor down and edge him, Connor has to duck into a goddamn witnesses bathroom in her goddamn house to cum.

He won’t go near the shop. He won’t contact Markus. The real Markus. 

He can’t, no matter Hank’s threats and shouts, no matter his begging, not even for his own sake.  
Two weeks after the ‘incident’ on Hank’s birthday, he drives them to the shop and refuses to park anywhere other than the carpark out front. So, Connor does the only thing he can think of, and ducks down to hide in the footwell, ignoring Hank’s “Oh for fuck’s sake, boy!” before his partner stalks off into the shop.

Five minutes later, there’s a tap on the window, and he jerks his head up to see Simon staring down at him, eyes full of pity.

“Hey buddy,” he calls to Connor through the window. “What, uh, what are you up to down there?”

“… Hiding in case Markus is in there,” Connor doesn’t see any point in lying.

Simon shakes his head, “He’s been holed up in his office since he came back. Won’t even talk to Hank.”

Connor groans out loud, “I never meant to fuck things up so badly.”

“Probably not, no, I don’t think you did,” Simon concedes, voice muffled through the glass. “But I gotta be honest, pal, you’re not exactly, uh, rectifying the situation, either.”

Connor knows that, he does, but he also doesn’t see any way to fix it.

“How is exacerbating all this the right thing to do here?” Hank grumbles as they drive away five minutes later. “You are literally doing the worst possible thing.”

If only you knew, Connor thought, but didn’t bother to say. Hank doesn’t speak to him again for the rest of the day.

*

When Hank shows up at Connor’s door sometime in early December, wearing a suit for no reason that Connor can discern, to say he’s instantly suspicious is putting it lightly.

“Get showered and get some good digs on, we’re going out.”

“No.”

“Do it!” Hanks barks, so Connor scarpers, not sure why he still allows himself to be bullied about by his jerk of a partner like this.

He doesn’t own a suit, but he put on clean grey trousers and a black button up, knowing in every part of him that no matter what Hank is up to, it almost definitely involves Connor seeing Markus tonight.  
It’s been over two months. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t want to fight it anymore. He needs to see Markus too badly, to look into his face, to touch him again.

Markus doesn’t serve in the shop at all anymore, Connor is told, not that it matters because he doesn’t go in anyway. Josh and Simon have come out to pay him a visit a few times, while Hank is inside, but Connor is surly with them, the only way he can think of drive them away, make them not like him, make them not want to care.

Online, Connor’s relationship with Markus is intense and fulfilling, sexually at least, but all of Connor knows it isn’t real. A part of him wants to just arrive wherever Hank is driving him, take Markus in his arms and kiss him and have him know the truth and understand and forgive and trust him again all in the same moment. 

They pull up a few blocks from the shop and walk the rest of the way.

“It’s a party to thank their customers for their patronage this year,” Hank eyes him as Connor walks docilely alongside him, then, “Why aren’t you running away?”

“There’s no point anymore. He deserves an explanation.”

“Oh my God, why couldn’t you have that fucking revelation two and half months ago!?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“Fuck you, Connor, but you’re a selfish asshole! Do you know that? What about him? What about what was best for him! What about the fact that he’s been ready and waiting since day one!?” 

“He’ll want nothing to do with me after this,” Connor insists, a sort of calm acceptance settling over him. “It will be over.”

“You have got to be the most goddamn fucked up little piece of- “ But Connor doesn’t hear any more of Hank’s rant, because he’s pushing open the door to the crowded shop and stepping in. 

There’s loud music and chatter, people everywhere all dressed up in fancy clothes. He heads through to the kitchen, the door to which is open, and finds even more of a crowd. Markus is in a corner chatting away with a blonde short-haired woman. He doesn’t even see Connor coming, the crowd of dancing people is so deep around the central island, doesn’t spot him until he lays his hand on his arm.

“Markus.”

Markus does a double-take, and his expression cycles through surprise and pleasure before settling on rage so quickly it’s impressive, but Connor doesn’t blame him.

“I owe you an explanation. If you can give me five minutes alone, I’ll tell you everything, then I’ll walk out, and you don’t ever have to see me again.”

Markus’ venomous, “That last part sure sounds good,” is so fervent that it causes a physical tinge in Connor’s chest.

They pass Hank as Markus stalks ahead of him to his office, who gives Connor’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Connor tries to take the comfort from it but mostly just feels like a piece of crap. Markus shuts the office door behind him with a snap.

The memory of what barely happened in this room almost three months ago, the briefest brush of Markus’ lips, makes Connor heave an audible sigh. Markus stands against the door with his arms folded and doesn’t speak.

So, Connor does.

“Do you remember when I first came in here, with Hank, in my first week on-duty? I saw you and just thought holy shit. Not just because you’re fucking gorgeous, but because that wasn’t the first time I’d seen you.”

“What do you mean?” Markus’ anger has turned wary, his eyes betraying panic. 

“I first saw you the Sunday night before. I saw your show, Markus. I recognised you the second I set foot in here.”

“Oh God, no,” Markus breathes, and Connor knows he’s connected the dots. “You have to be fucking with me, no. No way.”

“It’s me. I’m him.”

“No!” Markus lunges at him, face twisted in rage, hands curling in the fabric of Connor’s shirt and hauling him close so he can snarl, “You’re fucking lying!” in his face.

“I’m not, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times. I’m Sleuth.”

Markus has gone white, and he drops Connor, backing away from him with a whimper.

Connor wants to go to him and comfort him, but he knows there’s no help he can give.

“I’ve lied. I’ve taken advantage of you. I’ve used you. I’ve betrayed you. In some fucked up way I’ve even cheated on you, almost? With myself? Cheated on you with you? God, I don’t know. I didn’t expect to develop feelings, real feelings, in real life, me for you. I thought I could keep things purely primal, the way it was online between us. The fucking good sex, God... But that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t know you and not know you, all at once. I couldn’t keep lying to you. But I choose the wrong Markus. I chose the wrong reality. I should have come clean so much sooner, ended things online and tried to pursue this,” he gestures futilely between them.

“How could you do this to me?” Markus whispers to him, his voice burning like ice. “How could you do this to us?”

“I wanted to tell you so many times.”

“Then why didn’t you?” The incredulity is almost tangible.

“I didn’t want to lose what we had on the site?” Connor is being honest about things he hadn’t even realised. “I know that’s wrong. Selfish isn’t a strong enough word. Being able to be free and express myself and what I want and what I like and what I need sexually… it was safe online, with you. So much safer than in real life. Because it wasn’t real. It didn’t feel real, didn’t seem like real feelings could get hurt or real emotions could exist. I could hide behind my computer screen. That’s why I chose it over telling you the truth. I was weak. And scared.”

“I just…” Markus rubbed his face with his hands, voice muffled through his fingers. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you! That’s why you’ve been hiding from me for months!?”

“I didn’t want to lose you in real life and online, which is what I knew would happen when I told you the truth since I’d let it all drag on far too long. So, I chose losing one over losing both. I have no excuses. Taking advantage of you for my own sexual gratification is… was… despicable of me.”

Markus huffs that that’s putting it lightly.

Connor sidles slowly closer, reaching for the door handle, “I’ll go.”

“Don’t ever come back,” Connor can’t tell if that’s more warning or prayer and doesn’t linger to ask.  
The thumping music hits him like a punch in the gut, and it feels like wading through wet concrete trying to get to the front door. At some point Hank appears, and his hand is on Connor’s elbow to guide him. 

The fresh air outside is anchoring, and Connor sucks in a lungful of it, walking and walking out into the night, chasing the taste, needing more. The more distance he puts between him and the shop, the better he feels.

Hank’s hand doesn’t leave his elbow, even when they pass the car, even when they’re on streets he doesn’t recognise.

He just walks. Hank just walks. It’s the only thing out of the whole mess that feels any good.

*

Markus has deleted his page on the site, Connor discovers, when he has the courage to go online (signed in as a guest) two weeks later.

He’s surprised to find it doesn’t hurt. If anything, it feels like release, like being let go, set free. Excommunicated. Rejected. 

Perhaps he just dreamed it all, he wonders, as he pours himself a large glass of whiskey, and then another five minutes later when somehow his glass is empty.

But no, he could never dream up anything as perfect as Markus.

*

He texts Markus Merry Christmas, which goes ignored, as he knew it would.

Connor’s Christmas is spent alone, watching crap on TV and drinking until he vomits.

His parents are long dead, and he has no family he actively wants to see.

It’s Hank’s turn to have his son Cole this Christmas – Connor doesn’t tell him he’s alone, doesn’t want to ruin his time with his kid, knows that Hank would have him over, then come to forcibly relocate him to his house when he refused.

It’s better to be alone. Connor’s used to it. It feels like it’s how it’s meant to be.

*

By January he feels he’s ready to insist Hank go back to the shop if he wants – neither of them has set foot in the place since the party.

Hank declines with a simple, “Best not.”

Nothing more is said.

*

It’s March by the time he finally comprehends how badly his life has fallen apart, how sad and scared and alone he is – how much he’s fucked up. Outwardly, it’s not overly possible to tell the change that the realisation inflicts. He gets on with his work, he and Hank work as well together as ever. Case after case follows a pattern – establishing facts, data, motive, not moving too quick or too slow, questioning witnesses, passers-by, neighbours, pulling the whole picture together with no stone unturned until the truth can’t possibly stay hidden.

He’s the same as ever, calm, meticulous, thorough, and his ability to uncover even the most miniscule or seemingly unimportant piece of evidence means they usually get their killer.

He and Hank go for drinks every Friday, and he’s grateful their relationship hasn’t soured in the face of his stupidity the previous year, though there’s plenty left unsaid between them about it, the air heavy when they drive past the shop, when Connor grows too quiet.

No, it’s only when he’s alone that his careful control slips away and the pain slides back in, bolts of ice in his heart, searing and scalding. Markus had given him a reason to be motivated for each day, just the possibility of seeing him would have Connor excited and joyful. Even their online relationship – for all he tried to tell himself was only fake sex, had been meaningful, fulfilling. 

Now he has neither, so he mopes about most evenings, in the mornings because he can’t sleep past 4:30am, it seems, killing time before work.

Losing Markus so completely – any texts he dares send on occasion are ignored and he doesn’t bother to try and call – is like being cut off from sunlight, from human contact, from pleasure in any form.  
Missing him is primal, but that was his punishment, and never getting to set eyes on him again was his penance.

*

Hank is weirder than usual one Friday, nursing one beer slowly at their usual booth in their usual bar, giving Connor long, contemplative looks.

It doesn’t take long for impatience to win over.

“What?”

Hank sighs, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“You’ve been weird all day. What is it? Is it Markus? Have you seen him?”

“Not everything is about you and your fucked-up love life, you little asshole. If you’re still pining after Markus after all this time, you really ought to do something about it.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

“You’ve asked him, and that’s what he’s said? Or did you decide that for him the way you decided everything else? It’s been 6 months since the party, Connor. If you’re still hung up on him, don’t you think it might be time to make an actual effort?”

“He doesn’t answer my texts!”

“Texts!? You idiot! Of course, he won’t answer a goddamn text! I don’t blame him! He wants more than just a few fucking words on a cell phone screen!”

“You think… maybe I should call him?”

“You are so fucking dumb sometimes, I don’t know how you’re going to cope without me…” Hank grumbles into his beer. “Go see him, dumbass. If he kicks you out it’s what you deserve. At least you’ll know.”

Connor sulks over that before Hank’s words sink in.

“What do you mean cope without you?”

Hank’s tone is surprisingly gentle, “I’ve handed in my notice, Connor. I’m retiring.”

“What? Why? When?”

“End of the month. And because I’m 60. I can’t keep up and I won’t hinder future investigations by hanging on out of pride. And I’m tired. And I’m done.”

“But…”

“You’ll be OK, Connor. They’ll get you a new partner.”

“I don’t want…”

Hank squeezes his arm, “For the last time, boy. It’s not about what you want.”

“But what do I do without you?”

“You’ll be OK,” Hank says again, sounding like he actually means it.

The threat of losing Hank – the only person Connor feels he has left any more that cares about him the way he cares about them – is ultimately what scares him into doing it. He’ll wonder, belatedly, if that was Hank’s plan all along. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was.

Hank nags and fusses about Connor going to see Markus so much over the next few days that Connor can’t think straight. Hank’s loyal silence over the past 6 months was now a dam broken, water released – he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about Markus.

So, Connor gives in, resentful and wounded, just to shut him up, knowing it would fix nothing because there was no way Markus would agree to see him anyway. But he needs to appease Hank back into silence, and he doesn’t want their last few weeks working together to be marred with bitterness.

Connor pulls in outside the shop one day as they pass while he’s driving, not saying a word.  
Hank too is silent and remains resolutely in the car as Connor clambers out. 

Connor hadn’t planned it, not really, but being so close to Markus’ vicinity had tugged him in like gravity. Now that he was there, rocking on his heels on the sidewalk, he can’t comprehend how he’s kept away so long.

Stepping through the door instantly reminds him why – Markus’ fervent swearing when he catches sight of him and his livid hiss of “Get the fuck out!” make it all clear.

Connor freezes on the doorstep, one hand still clutching the handle, eyes intent on Markus’ face.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he keeps his voice even. “I just wanted to see you.”  
Someone, probably Simon, lets out a quiet ‘Aw’, but Markus is impassive.

“You’re right, I’m not going to talk to you. I’d like you to leave now.”

“Alright,” Connor keeps his voice even despite his prickling eyes. What else could he reasonably expect? He heads back to the car with his shoulders straight, and doesn’t bother responding to Hank’s mumbled, “Are you OK?”

They drive back to the department in silence, though as they get out of the car Hank apologizes. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” he says quietly as they head across the lot. “I thought enough time had passed. I thought by now surely he’d be missing you too.”

“Yeah, well,” Connor doesn’t finish the sentence.

“He liked you Connor. A lot. You, all of you, not just whatever kinky, weird shit you two got up to on the computer, or the flirting in the store. The look on his face when you walked into the shop the first time… the look on his face every other time since…”

“You didn’t see him today,” Connor shakes his head and turns to look Hank in the eyes before they push through the front doors. “It’s over. Whatever he felt, he doesn’t anymore. Thank you for trying to help me. I appreciate it. You’ve been a good partner, and a great friend.”

Hanks hugs him tight, and Connor closes his eyes and doesn’t know quite how he’ll cope when he inevitably lets him go.

*

Despite his disastrous encounter with Markus, in a few days’ time Connor is sidling back into the shop.  
North and Simon are at the counter, their expressions polar opposites when they see him. North keeps serving customers, taking her time filling a box with lemon iced doughnuts for an eager looking student, so naturally it’s Simon who Connor makes his way to when it’s his turn.

“Hey, Connor,” Simon smiles, and Connor wonders how someone as nice as him can bear to be around bitchy North and sulky Josh all day.

“Simon, hey,” Connor pitches his voice low. “Is Markus in?”

Simon’s smile fades, “Yeah, he is, but… look he doesn’t want to see you, Connor, I’m sorry. He told us if we saw you that we had to tell you to leave.”

Connor lets out a frustrated groan, even though he accepts that this is no more than he deserves.

“I’m not here to bug him or try to get him to listen to my shit excuses. It’s about Hank. He’s retiring, and Fowler wants to ask you guys to cater.”

Simon rubs his neck and cringes a little, looking awkward and uncertain.

“That’s all I’m going to talk to him about, nothing else,” Connor insists. 

“Let him through, Si,” Josh pipes up from the kitchen door. “It’s business. Markus is in his office,” this last part is directed at Connor, who nods slowly and ducks under the counter.

He moves warily down the hallway, feeling the same crush of nerves and adrenaline as he does when he’s in pursuit of a suspect. Markus’ door is open, and Connor slips inside and shuts it before the other man can stop him.

Markus half-rises from his desk, and how such pure rage and hatred can overcome a person’s features in a split-second like that is really a feat.

“I’m not here to talk about anything personal,” Connor says in a rush, before Markus can kick him out.  
“I don’t want you here,” Markus warns. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say, personal or otherwise. Why would I want to have anything to do with a lying, deceitful manipulator like you?”

Connor stamps down on his pain and tries to get a word in, but Markus still has more to say.

“So why are you here, then?” He challenges. “Come to lie to my face some more? Or would you rather hide behind your laptop and jerk off to me, then come in the next day pretending like nothing had happened!”

Connor cringes at the loudness of his voice, knowing it’s warranted but Christ for someone that doesn’t want to talk about it, Markus sure wants to talk about. 

“I’ve never pursued my own pleasure before,” he tries to explain. “When I finally did, for the first time in my life, it quickly overrode everything else. I couldn’t think of anything else but your shows, your messages... it completely consumed me, and I picked chasing that high and all that pleasure over trying to create something real with you in real life.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get,” Markus snipes. “Because we were creating something! Slowly and little by little, but it was building up and it was fucking real! All the flirting, all the looks… God I used to pray for you to just touch me, in any way… outside the station, on Hank’s birthday I thought I was in heaven, and when you came here after and we stood right there…” 

“I thought it was just me,” Connor whispered, and Markus’ laugh was a harsh bark.

“Yeah, that’s the whole problem, Connor. All along you assumed you knew how I felt, what I was thinking, how I would react. Well that’s fucking bullshit. You don’t get to decide how I feel! You can clearly barely even work out how you feel, what gives you the right to assume anything about me? Because you’re better than me, smarter, more educated? Because you had more opportunities? Because you’re an officer of the law and I’m just…”

“No!”

“And then it all went to hell, didn’t it, and you couldn’t handle your own two-faced, lying guilt. So, I had to pay? Because you’re fucking in denial and sexually repressed, and cared more about getting off to a faceless guy on a screen, even though you could have had me in a second in reality?”

“I was never in denial!” Connor wasn’t angry before, but now he is. “I’ve never been ashamed about being gay. I just never had many opportunities to explore or experiment with anyone in real life. I’m still a goddamn virgin, Markus! And I was OK with that! Right up until you, and your show. My life has been spent fighting to get ahead, to be the best, to solve crimes and catch murderers before they strike again. To protect people! Until you… because all those urges that I had ignored, all the desires I had turned my back on… it all culminated in one single person, all my needs gratified… I just couldn’t stop.”

Markus had calmed a little, but his eyes were still wary and wild.

Connor carried on, “And here, in the shop, in real life, God do you even know how I would long for the few minutes I got to see you? Because this was the other side of it, of falling in love. The emotions, the excitement, the delight, the pure fucking joy of just… knowing you. Put together it all made a whole, online and reality, lust and love. But I couldn’t align it. And when I finally tried, I messed it all up. When I walked in here the first time and realised it was you… God I fucked it all up.”

“You’re damn right you did. You should have been honest with me from the beginning. As soon as we started to get close.”

“I did try. A few times.”

“Trying isn’t good enough,” Markus stands with his arms folded over his navy-blue hoodie, his shoulders hunched.

“I know. I torment myself with that every day. Look. I came here to talk about Hank’s retirement. We don’t have to talk about us anymore. I know what I did, what I kept from you, was wrong and unfair and cruel and criminal. I didn’t come here to try and convince you to forgive me, because I don’t think I deserve it, or to espouse that I love you, because I think you already know that. I came here to talk about Hank’s retirement and to have a calm and professional convers-”

“Are you some sort of machine!?” Markus howls, cutting him off. “Calm and professional!? You tell me you love me but in the next breath you say you only want to talk business? Oh my God Connor, what the fuck is wrong with you!?”

He collapses back down in his seat with his head in his hands, and Connor really doesn’t know anymore.

“I’m just trying to get us both through this as painlessly as possible,” he whispers.

“Well wake up and try facing the reality you’re so fond of avoiding. It hurts. Seeing you hurts. Thinking about you hurts. It really fucking hurts. You can’t talk that pain away; we can’t converse until it’s all better. You can’t assume I’ll get over it just because you think I should, or think I never cared in the first place, or whatever the fuck other thoughts you have going on, the way you assumed everything else about me!”

“I’m not over it,” Connor tells him quietly. “I’m never going to be over it. It was a mistake to let Fowler talk me into coming here, I’ll tell him to think of something else for Hank.”

He leaves before he can do any more damage, not bothering to wipe his wet face as he goes.

*

He tells Fowler it’s a no-go, but doesn’t go into the details of why, just says that he’s washing his hands of it all and he’s got too much work to do. He loves Hank, but it’s not the job of a junior detective to plan retirement parties, even if the individual is his own partner.

Hank pats his hand when he sits back down at his desk, and the world straightens out a little at the contact.

*

Suffice it to say, Markus calling him at 11 at night a few evenings later comes as a bit of a shock.

He’s three sheets to the wind, and Connor can barely hear his slurring voice over the thumping bass of whatever club he’s in.

“Connor, hey. Hey. Connor,” is garbled down the line, and Connor can’t help letting his eyes drift close in pleasure at the sound of Markus’ voice before he snaps awake.

“Markus, are you drunk?” He groans. “Where are you?”

“Out.”

“You should get yourself home now.”

“Don’t want to go home. Want to see you,” Markus mumbles, and the background noise eases. Connor can hear footsteps on concrete echoing down the line and assumes Markus has left wherever he had been.

Markus is certainly more audible now too, perhaps a little too much. “I want to come and see you. And I want to fuck you,” his tone is far too aggressive, though Connor’s cock sure isn’t complaining.

“I really don’t think you do. Go home Markus and get some sleep. Are there any cabs about, can you see any?”

“Don’t want a cab. Want you. Want that sweet little body. You want me to come to you. I want me to come to you. I could finally be inside you, after all this time of wanting it so badly…”

“You need to go home, Markus. You’re drunk.” Connor tries to reason with him, he really does. His own internal aching is valiantly being ignored. 

“You’re going to regret this call so bad in the morning,” he warns Markus, who’s not listening.

“I miss you,” is slurred drunkenly, and Connor rubs his eyes in frustration. “I miss you like mad. I need you so badly, in every way. God do you have any idea?” He breaks off, panting, and every laboured breath down the phone seems to shoot to Connor’s groin.

He shudders with how much he wants to make Markus gasp for breath like that, in literally any other circumstance.

“Markus,” he moans, miserable. “Go. Home.”

“Baby,” Markus rasps back, and Connor can’t help his keen, unable to keep his hand from sliding into his briefs. “Baby, oh God, want you.”

“Where are you,” Connor moans helplessly, desperate and light-years beyond horny.

“Alleyway.”

“God you can’t, you’ll be arrested! Don’t.” He’s as stern as he can be, but Markus just laughs, throaty and low.

“Oh baby, too late,” is growled like a threat and Connor moans again and finally takes a hold himself, his cock throbbing and ready.

“Markus, oh God, please…”

“So good to hear your voice,” Markus whispers back, then there’s unmistakeable sound of him spitting into his free hand.

“You’ll regret this,” Connor warns him one last time. “You will. You’re going to hate yourself. And you’ll hate me even more, come the morning.”

“You’re a shitty listener, Connor,” Markus tells him. “I just want to fuck you. Nothing else, nothing more, nothing less. I just want to bend you over, get you wet and open and ready, slide into you… I want to take you hard and rough, the way I know you need, cos I know you want it like that. Besides, what is it you were always saying? This isn’t real?”

“It’s real now. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t make it real.”

“Oh, shut up, it always was. We always were. The mode of communication doesn’t matter – what I felt was real, and so were the fucking phenomenal orgasms. So, stop trying to stop me and touch yourself.”  
The slick noises get louder and faster down the line, and Markus’ breath starts to huff. Connor speeds up too, dry and a little sore but unable to keep the whining from spilling from his mouth anyway.

“Markus… Markus… Markus, oh…”

“That’s it, baby, that’s it…”

Connor’s eyes are starting to roll back, and he clamps the phone as tight as he can to his ear to hear everything down Markus’ end. 

“You can’t blame this on me,” Connor warns him, even as the soles of his feet tingle and his body draws up taut. “It’s all you, all your fault this time, just this once.”

Markus just snarls, then his breath hitches, before a broken, guttural groan carries Connor in its wake to completion.

Markus pants a few more mutters of, “Oh, fuck” and “Baby,” down the phone, but Connor can’t bring himself to reply, his head swimming as he listens to Markus’ panting slowly even out. 

Eventually, Connor breaks the spell, “Are you alright?”

Markus doesn’t answer, just hangs up

*

Connor tries all the following day to keep away, really, he does, but that was never a battle he was going to win. His addiction to Markus, which had never dulled, is rampant now.

When Connor slips into the shop’s office close to closing time, Hank having dropped him on his way home, he’s surprised to find Markus not looking regretful or angry, just tired.

“Come to gloat?”

“Not particularly. I’m glad you got home safely last night.”

Markus grunts, then eyes Connor and apparently feels the need to insist, “I’m not ashamed. I was… how did you put it? Expressing my urges. I’m still furious at you. Just because I want to fuck you, like, constantly, doesn’t mean I forgive any of the shit you pulled.”

“I don’t forgive any of the shit I pulled either,” Connor reminds him. 

Markus seems satisfied, “So we’re agreed I’m not a hypocrite for wanting to throw you down on the floor right now and get your fucking clothes off so I can finally mark you up and get my fucking cock inside you?”

“Nothing hypocritical there in my book,” Connor challenges him and Markus is up and vaulting clean over the desk in the next instant, ramming Connor back against the wall in the next breath, kissing him for all he’s worth.

The momentum lifts Connor off his feet, but he finds the traction against the door to get both legs wound around Markus’ waist, clutching at his back with one hand and rubbing at his shoulders with the other.

Markus’ tongue alone is making Connor weak and it’s not long before he’s moaning too much to kiss back properly.

“Why’d you have to keep coming back?” Markus grumbles into his neck as he scrapes at Connor’s collarbone with his teeth, seeming to delight in making him shudder. “It was so much easier to pretend I didn’t feel anything at all for you if I didn’t have to look at you and remember… God, everything.”

Connor has lost the ability to talk, so he answers by dragging up the back of Markus’ shirt, stroking at his hard muscles before trying to wriggle one hand down the front of his trousers. Markus eases back and gently puts him down on his own feet, his eyes dark.

“Not here, baby. Let me take you home. The things I want to do to you are best done on a bed, and it’s going to be prolonged, so comfort is paramount.”

Connor can’t suppress his full-body shudder at that before he pitches himself back into Markus’ arms, mouth hungry for more. Markus cups his face and calms him with slow kisses until his fervour is manageable, then takes his hand and tows him out of the building, not bothering to spare North or Simon a second glance.

He drives with one hand petting Connor’s knee, and just a few minutes of that has him thrashing about against the passenger seat – who knew that was such an erogenous zone, even through denim? Connor is straining against his zipper at the first set of traffic lights and can’t help his own hand dropping down into Markus’ lap, tracing the outline of him against his fly.

Markus moans and turns hazy eyes to him, “Baby, don’t…” Connor just squeezes him through the fabric and smirks at his hiss of delight before he has the presence of mind to bat Connor’s hand away, horns blaring around them as he finally takes off at the green light. 

Connor settles back in his seat after that, the picture of innocence, and drinks in the sight of Markus instead, his flushed cheeks and heavy eyes, which widen when they glance over at Connor and find his jeans open, his hand wrapped casually around himself.

“Baby, no, you can’t, someone will see,” Markus tries, and Connor laughs. 

“I don’t have to listen to you. You didn’t listen to me last night… plus I’m an officer of the law… I can do what I like.”

Markus almost rear-ends the car in front, swearing, but one hand reaches to take over.

Connor rewards him with a loud moan. The feeling of Markus’ warm fingers wrapping around him is heavenly.

“I can’t wait to have you in me,” he tells him, hitching his hips up. “That gorgeous cock…”

Markus squeezes him then, and Connor begins to rock up steadily in his grip. He’s practically delirious with desire by the time Markus’ is pulling up into what must be his driveway, and Connor has to be hauled out of the car and practically carried into the house.

“Please,” he mumbles into Markus’ neck, plastered to his front as he tries to unlock his door. His hips start to rock again even as it falls open behind him “Please, please, please…I’m so sorry for everything, please…”

“Shhh, let me get you inside…”

Connor knows nothing but Markus’ hands leaving trails of heat all over his skin as he strips him, his mouth scorching hot and bruising, sinfully taking, sweetly demanding. They fuck on the floor of the entryway, too desperate to make it up the stairs; both are dripping with sweat by the time they’re mostly naked – Markus only bothers to shove his jeans down to his ankles and Connor’s shirt is rucked up around his armpits, because to take it off properly would mean taking his hands off of Markus and he just can’t. 

It’s frantic and quick, punctuated with helpless groans and choked swear words. When Markus finally pushes inside him, spit for lube and looming over him with his teeth bared as he curls a hand around his cock, Connor is so wound up that he cums after just a few thrusts and Markus’ tight, dry grip.

He pants wildly and writhes against the floor as his high slowly dissipates, feeling his cum already start to stick, but Markus pulls both his knees over his shoulders, hips circling slowly before he starts to move properly. Then Connor wails, his ache finally getting attention, rubbed so thoroughly by the quick, deep thrusts.

It doesn’t last anywhere near as long as Connor would like; Markus’ teeth grit and he lets out a soft moan as he fills him up, but God it’s so good. Connor strokes through the layer of sweat on Markus’ back and they rest, careless, on the hardwood floor.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited and hoped and dreamed of that,” Markus mumbles to him, wiping at some of the mess on Connor’s chest. 

Connor smiles back and sits up slowly off the floor, the blood in his body finally starting to circulate in areas other than his groin. He reaches for Markus again, “I’m sorry I -“  
But Markus shuts him up, wrapping an arm around his back and dragging him across the floor into a kiss. 

Connor leans his head against Markus’ temple, breathes him in.

That’s when he notices they’d left the front door wide open. Connor gasp comes out like more of a scream than he intends. Markus laughs so hard he keels back over onto the floor.

“We’ll do Hank’s party, by the way,” he offers once Connor has scrambled to slam the door shut, and he’s finally stopped his peals of laughter, sitting propped up against the bottom of the stairs.

“Thank you,” Connor tells him genuinely, sore and raw in so many ways, leaning his back against the closed door.

There’s a lot to fix, a lot to talk about, a lot of explanations and apologies and admissions and questions and answers. So, they face each other naked across the short distance between them and make a start.


End file.
